


Ransom

by Merkwerkee



Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [18]
Category: Masters of the Metaverse
Genre: Whumptober 2019, during his time in the Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee
Summary: Bruno's squadmates are actual 4 year olds. That's it, that's the story
Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643020





	Ransom

Bruno looked up as Graves ran into the quiet room Bruno had chosen specifically so he wouldn’t be disturbed.

“What- ” he started to ask, but before he could even finish the question Graves was shoving a a box into his hands and running back out the door. Perplexed, he looked down at the box and nearly dropped it when he recognized Weber’s initials written so deeply on the cardboard they were almost carved through. It was the rare box of chocolates from Weber’s wife, which he had been lording over the others in the squad and generally been obnoxious about. So what the hell was Graves playing at?

Graves chose that moment to slip back into the room quietly, easing the door shut behind him like he was undoing a very fine wire on a very finicky bomb. Bruno held up the box with a raised eyebrow. A look of relief flickered over Graves’ face. “Oh good, I wasn’t sure if I gave him the slip before or after I ducked in here. I was lucky you were to guard it, I’ll just take that and put it somewhere safe,” so saying he made a grab for the box that Bruno moved out of the way at the very last second.

“Not so fast. What in the Sam Hill were you doing with Chisel’s chocolates? And what are you planning on doing with them next?” Bruno kept his face stern as he spoke, but inwardly he convulsed with laughter as Graves’ face pinched in consternation. Apparently he hadn’t thought Bruno would want to know these kinds of details before handing over the precious cargo.

“Well, see, he was doing that thing again - where he was parading around saying how fucking great the chocolate was and how much his wife looooooved him to send him such great damn chocolate and all that like he’s been saying for days and all that horseshit - and I’ve had it up to fucking here with his shit so I - ah! Dammit - grabbed the box and legged it. As for what happens next, well, I figure he owes me a bit of a tax for not stabbing him after his song and dance these last few days and then maybe he finds when I hang it halfway up the flagpole and maybe he doesn’t.” Graves kept his eyes on the box all throughout his speech, and made several unsuccessful grabs to try and reclaim his prize.

Keeping the smirk off his face with difficulty and ignoring the old by-now-familiar twinge at the thought of a wife waiting in the States for her soldier, Bruno pretended to think for a few minutes about the whole thing. “It seems like you might be on to something with that plan,” he said conversationally, pretending to tap the box on his chin like he was thinking very hard. “Except for the important fact that now _I_ am in the possession of said box, and it is my moral duty to return stolen goods wherever I might find them.” Graves’ face was priceless, incredulity mixing swiftly with resignation to form a strange sort of half-grimace.

“C'mon Hammer, I know you’re as tired of Weber’s shit as I am,” it wasn’t quite a whine, but it got close and Bruno could feel the muscles twitching in his cheeks as he tried not to smile. Sensing victory, Graves pursued the point and impression like a panther on a wounded antelope. “‘My wife luuuuuuuvs me you should aaaaaaall have a wife that luuuuuuvs you.’ I don’t wannnnaaaaa hear moooore about the chocolate,” Graves was now full-on whining and Bruno couldn’t help the laugh the bubbled up from his chest at the younger man’s impression of the insufferably smug Weber.

“Fine, fine, you can have it back. If,” he held the box up warningly and Graves froze in mid-grab like a deer in the headlights, “you take latrine duty next three missions.” Bruno grinned smugly at Graves as the shorter man’s face worked through the five stages of grief in the span of maybe ten seconds.

“Fine,” he snapped and grabbed the box out of Bruno’s unresistant hand. “You know, the next time someone tells me you’re the nicest bastard in the squad I’m going to think of this moment and laugh myself sick at their expense.” With that pithy remark, Graves fled; presumably to try and hang the box on the flagpole before Weber caught up to him.

Bruno snorted and went back to cleaning the Beretta he had disassembled and laid out on the table; if Graves’ plan actually worked, he would be extremely surprised, and he looked forward to the terrible and creative punishment Weber would level.


End file.
